


Venom

by GreyySeal



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Suicidal Thoughts, especially title song, just really like that song, listened to the amazing devil while writing this, okay ill get back to angst, specifically two minutes, stream horror and the wild, this is becoming the amazing devil propaganda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyySeal/pseuds/GreyySeal
Summary: Based off of a fanart I posted on twitter and instagram (both @aphelioo) and also a twitter convo I had with @Saint_Hemlock that turned into ANGST and I got inspired (thank you for the inspiration!! <3 )
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 93





	Venom

It really tore him apart at first, Geralt’s ruthless words. He had spat venom like a snake, and found his mark. Jaskier wondered if he perhaps had two little holes in his chest, maybe up by his collarbone? When he imagined being bitten by Geralt, it was so much better than this. The more he thought about it, the more the sharp pain faded into a dull ache, like a weight on his chest that he couldn’t escape, like a soft tightness in his abdomen no matter how deep of a breath he took to sooth it. Perhaps everything with Geralt was imagined. Maybe all the times he had thought that maybe the glance over the fire was fond, it was just annoyance. Wishing that the bard would leave, more likely.

There was that dull ache again. Jaskier felt a profound emptiness within him, like Geralt’s fangs sank into his chest and ripped the flesh away like a scorned noblewoman may tear down her velvet curtains in a rage. There was a grief that couldn’t be spoken, and the deafening silence of the usually chatty bard was only broken by his footsteps crunching over gravel. He followed the trail they had taken to get to the dragon’s cave, as he felt he would get lost otherwise. He came upon the nerve-wracking path along the cliff face, but there wasn’t nearly enough fear in his heart. He shuffled along as he had before, keeping his eyes forward. He didn’t have to breathe so manually this time, and there was an overwhelming sense of dread. He was halfway across before he stopped for a little break, shaking from the cold that hung onto him from the fog, the dampness that matched his heart. He looked down, but it was ill-advised. He felt something in him click, and he leaned out further, his hand still clutching the chain. Wouldn’t it be so easy to let go, to let himself and his lute perish, never to be found by sentient eyes. To let his final moments be of his days in the sun, before the tigers came and tore him limb from precious limb. There was a devastating emptiness, and it only grew. The snake bites in his hairy chest grew and swelled, reddening and dripping with puss and blood, but were numb and warm. Not warm like a comfortable campfire with a dear friend but like he was being burned at the stake and the flames were just licking his boots.

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!

The sudden ringing of Geralt’s venom struck again, but it was nearly an antidote. Jaskier pulled himself back up and hastily made his way across the other half. The fire had climbed up his pant leg and spread to his chest, filling the void. No, he wouldn’t grant Geralt’s wish. Jaskier gave him so much, but he refused to give him the satisfaction that the bard would no longer be a bother. He would still sing Geralt’s praises, but would he still write for him? Never. Not until Geralt came crawling back on his knees and begged for his mercy, begged for his forgiveness. He wanted Geralt to plead with the bard to follow along at his heel once again. Jaskier was stubborn, and a bit of a coward, but he was cunning, often using Geralt’s shutting out Jaskier when he goes on his ramblings to snatch an extra morsel from Geralt’s bag, or try to lift something from the Witcher’s belt. Jaskier got caught a few times, but that meant Geralt had to actually listen to Jaskier talk, or ignore him and risk losing a snack. Those were some days, but they were long gone. There’s no hope getting them back, but Jaskier could at least constantly Geralt with what there was once, and that he was fine without the Witcher, as they could live just as well apart. Gods, how he wanted to never let that happen. His brain was flaming with passion and confidence, but his heart still ached. Jaskier's feet touched solid ground, and he went forward without looking back, his hands gripping the strap of his lute like a vice.

'I'll never allow you that blessing, Geralt of Rivia. Stupid witcher.'

•

It was over a year since Geralt had lost his best friend. Since Geralt made the most devastating mistake of his life and driven away the one person who cared for him most. He sat upon Roach and nudged her into a trot, his eyes glued just ahead of him. He ached deep in his heart, where thunder rolled violently on the horizon. The Witcher sulked upon his steed, and he eventually stopped in a delightful little town that was far too colorful for Geralt's sour state. It was that or sleep in the wilderness, and he had coin to spare. He boarded Roach, murmured loving words to her and left her for the comfort of a tavern and a tankard. As he approached, he heard a familiar voice at the door, and as it opened, he came face to face with someone incredibly familiar and yet a total stranger. The bard before him looked so happy until Geralt's eyes met his.

"Jaskier-"

"I really didn't want you to see me like this, Geralt." Jaskier clutched the strap of his lute like it would open up a portal and take him away. A tear wrestled it's way out, and fell down his cheek. This was the last place he wanted to be. "Leave me alone."

"No." Geralt's voice was as rough as ever, but there was a pain to it. Jaskier didn't know if it was his own pain or the Witcher's. "I hurt you, and I need to apologise."

Jaskier didn't move. He simply trembled and tried to ignore his Witcher.

His Witcher. Geralt was never his to begin with. Jaskier had always used such sweet names for the beast, and yet Geralt had never called him anything other than Jaskier or bard. Jaskier wanted to give up.

"I have a room at the inn down the street," Jaskier murmured, his eyes cast to the ground.

The two men walked in silence, and it became an unbearable itch. The walk was only a couple minutes, but it felt like an eternity. The pair settled in Jaskier’s room, Jaskier sitting at the foot of his bed while Geralt sat in a corner on a sturdy chair. The two were silent for a long time before Geralt spoke up.

“Jaskier.” The gravel was being kicked up again. Jaskier hated how much he had loved Geralt’s voice saying his name, but now it grated against him. “You were right. What I said was unfair, and...I wish I had never said any of that. You had always been by my side, Jaskier. I was just so angry, and I just wanted to be alone, so I lashed out.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“That is no excuse,” Geralt parroted, leaning forward and leaning his weight on his arms against his knees, hands clasped together. He was terrified. “I just wanted you to know my thinking. That it isn’t because I actually hate you. You...you’re my friend, Jaskier.”

Jaskier scoffed and turned his head, refusing to meet Geralt’s gaze. “Right. Right, yeah, thank you, Geralt.” Jaskier held back his venom, and it manifested in his tears instead. “I don’t think you understand how much you hurt me. I spent the better half of my life following at your heels like a mutt and that’s how you treat me? And you don’t bother to even look for me to make sure I hadn’t launched myself off a cliff because I had wasted my life and heart on some stupid Witcher, and I nearly had, Geralt! I’m living just to spite you,” he hissed, the venom dripping. Geralt needed to know how much he hurt Jaskier. “I wouldn’t allow you the blessing of never having to hear my name again, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let you pass through a town without hearing my songs.”

Geralt had frozen in his seat, his heart pounding. Usually it was so slow and nearly deliberate, but after hearing that he had nearly lost Jaskier for good, it sent him in a bad way. Judging by Jaskier’s sudden change in expression, Geralt knew he must have been crying. He reached up and touched his face to find his fingers came back wet with tears. He looked up at Jaskier and kept his jaw clenched, terrified of what sound he would make if he allowed his mouth to open. He made his way over, taking only a few steps to get to Jaskier. Before the bard could protest, Geralt sat beside him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Jaskier felt his walls immediately crumble, and he sank into Geralt’s embrace. They both shook, the reality of the situation hitting them like a ton of bricks.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Jaskier whimpered, unable to see clearly thanks to the tears that welled up in his eyes. “That’s unfair of me, a-and I-”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

Oh.

Oh.

Geralt had never sounded so heartbroken, had never been so defeated. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt and squeezed. They had needed this for a long time. It would take awhile for things to go back to normal, but all wounds heal with time, and Jaskier had never wanted Geralt back so badly before. Perhaps they could stay like this for a while. Perhaps they could still salvage what they had, and grow it into something more.

Someday.


End file.
